Post Mortem
by bourbon
Summary: Jordan learns to truth about Woody and Lu. Confrontation and accusations follow. Is there hope for Jordan and Woody? COMPLETE!
1. Finding Out

_A/N: I don't get it. I just don't understand what the writers are thinking. What have they done to Woody? It's gotten so hard to root for Woody and Jordan as a couple. Still, I keep thinking maybe if the two can just sit down together, uninterrupted, Woody can explain himself, and they can begin to work things out. So, this is my attempt at letting them do just that…something I'm hoping the writers let them do, too._

XXXXXXXX

There was something oddly comforting about the sting of the hot coffee cup against her hand. She could still feel the heat of it on her fingers through the cardboard cuff that ringed the paper cup, and it was soothing. Winter had been slow in leaving Boston, and the steaming latte warmed her as she rode up to the office on a cold Monday morning.

She stifled a yawn and sipped at her cup as the elevator jolted to a halt. She hadn't done anything particularly exciting that weekend to leave her feeling so drained. Quite the opposite. She had sat all weekend catching up on a stack of DVDs she'd rented weeks ago from Netflix. Woody could usually be counted on to call on a slow Friday or Saturday night for a last minute date. Nachos, karaoke, some late-night horror flick.

But he hadn't called in weeks. Not since he had left her on her doorstep with those words: _I don't want to be your rebound guy._

She winced as she thought of it again. It had made sense to her at the time. She was still smarting from her break-up with JD, and the last thing she and Woody needed was to dive headlong into a relationship when she was still sorting out her feelings of guilt and regret.

Yes, now that she stopped to think about it, she hadn't seen Woody outside work since that night. True, he had come over the other night to drop off her reference letter. He even offered to cancel his plans to join her for dinner. But like everything else in their complicated relationship, it hadn't quite worked out.

She had been overwhelmed the last couple of months with little time for a social life, anyway. Garret's drinking and family problems had come to a head, and she felt as if she needed to be there for him. Then there had been the subway bombings and Kayla. She hadn't had the time it would take to nurture a romantic relationship. Still, she had been left emotionally rattled by all that had happened, and when she needed Woody's support most, he was strangely absent.

_See ya 'round_, she had said to him when she left him there at her door with a chaste kiss on the cheek. She hadn't expected him to take it so literally. And she hadn't expected to miss him quite so much.

The elevator doors finally slid open, and she stepped sleepily out into the lobby of the M.E.'s office.

There was a sound of a woman's laughter, high and tinkling. It was somehow familiar, and her heart lurched.

Jordan blinked her eyes hard. Woody and Lu were walking towards her, heading for the elevator. They were laughing, sharing some personal joke, unaware of her presence. He was finishing up the last of a donut from the break room, and Jordan watched in unfolding awareness as Lu reached up and coyly wiped at the last traces of powdered sugar on his lip.

Jordan knew in a heart-wrenching instant. They looked comfortable with each other. Playful, intimate. They looked like lovers.

It was Woody who noticed Jordan first, as she stood numbly by the elevator doors with her coffee still gripped in her hand.

Lu was still giggling girlishly as Woody came to a halt and stopped her with a hand on her wrist. She looked up, and the three of them stood in frozen silence.

_I can't move. Why can't I move_? Jordan stood rooted to the spot. Woody's face drained of color, and his adam's apple bobbed up and down wordlessly as he stood with his eyes still fixed on Jordan's.

Finally, it was Lu who spoke. "Hi, Jordan…" she started in a small, shamed voice, her gaze cast to the floor.

Jordan couldn't speak. She nodded her head, and hurried past them, having at last found her feet.

"Jordan, wait!"

She could hear Woody's voice call after her as she staggered blindly down the hall. The scalding contents of her cup sloshed over the spout and onto her hand. She cursed in pain and angrily tossed the cup into the trash before heading into the locker room.

She was shaking as she stood there pulling on a fresh set of scrubs. She had foolishly assumed that she and Woody were moving tentatively towards a relationship. "Stupid. _Idiot_,_" _she whispered aloud to herself. There was a sick feeling churning in the pit of her stomach.

_Woody and Lu. Woody and Lu._ It was unimaginable. Had she missed something? Why hadn't she seen it?

"Oh, God. Oh God oh God oh God," she groaned to herself. It was humiliating. She had stood there with Lu at Kayla's safe house only a week or so before. She had blathered on about having let things with an "old friend go too far." Thoughts crashed through her head. Had Woody and Lu been sleeping together even then? Lu had been his therapist. She must have known. Of course she had known that Woody was the "old friend" in question.

She took a steadying breath. There was an autopsy waiting for her, and she needed to pull herself together. The subject of Woody and Lu was something she was unwilling, or unable, to face.

She pushed open the locker room door. Woody was leaning against the wall, waiting nervously for her. She faltered for a moment, but then turned without a word and headed toward autopsy.

"Jordan, come on! Would you wait a minute?"

"Where's _Lu_?"

"She went back to the station. Will you just wait?"

She pushed through the doors into autopsy and saw with relief that Nigel had readied things for her, as she had asked, and Woody would not be able to linger there. She pulled an apron on over her head and grabbed up a pair of gloves and safety glasses.

"Look," he started uneasily, and had to dodge her as she picked up a scalpel from the instrument tray. "I'm sorry you had to find out about me and Lu this way."

The small part of her that hoped she was mistaken about what she had seen died. "Just forget it, Woody. Now, unless you don't mind getting an eyeful of this guy's pancreas, you should probably go." She held up the scalpel and prepared to make the Y-incision.

"Just let me explain."

"What's there to explain?" she asked matter-of-factly. " You and Lu are together. End of story. Knock yourselves out."

He paused a moment. "Is that all you're going to say?" There were traces of hurt in his voice.

"What do you want me to say? You want me to cry? You waiting for a cat fight? Sorry, not going to happen, Farmboy." She had always meant this teasing little nickname to be affectionate, but in her bitter voice, it sounded as casually dismissive as she had meant it.

"Jordan, please. Can we just talk about this?"

"I've kind of got my hands full."

"It can wait. This guy's not going anywhere."

She suddenly looked up at him. "What you do with your life is not my concern, Woody. I don't want to talk about this. Not now. Not ever. I'm done." She hoped she didn't sound as angry and hurt as she felt. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

"Jordan, I know you're probably mad at me…"

"Don't presume to know how I _feel_," she said with force. Her eyes flashed with anger, and she held his gaze for a moment.She began to press the scalpel against the dead man's cold flesh, hoping desperately that Woody would leave.

"Then tell me, Jordan. Talk to me. " She ignored him and went on with the autopsy. "What are you doing, Jordan? You wouldn't. Jordan, _Jesus_!" He held up a forearm against his face as she started to cut. "Fine. Forget it. You win."

He had turned to go when something in the man's tissue caught her eye with a foreboding. She snapped off her rubber gloves and hurried over to where his file sat in a metal tray next to the body. "Wait, Woody! You can't leave yet!"

He turned back to her as her eyes scanned the pages. "What is it?"

"He was a missionary in South America. Just got back last week. _Damn it_."

"What does that mean?"

"Travel in Brazil..these white patches here. It fits."

He took one step in towards her. "Jordan, you're saying this like it's supposed to make sense to me. Dumb cop here, remember?"

She shook her head. "He died from Amazon River fever," she said.

"I guess you're going to tell me why this is important?"

"Well, it can be fatal, obviously, but most strains are treatable if caught in time," she explained, trying to keep from sounding too panicked. "The most common means of human-to-human transmission is when diseased tissue has been directly exposed to the air."

"Like…in an autopsy," he said in sudden, dreadful comprehension.

"Like in an autopsy," she repeated grimly.

"So, what does that mean for us?"

"We'll need a prophylactic round of several drugs. They'll do a blood test on both of us to see if we've been exposed. We'll know in 24 hours."

"And…?"

"And…" She swallowed hard. "I hope you and Lu don't have any big plans tonight. You and I are now under quarantine."


	2. Having it Out

_A/N: All I can say is…things will get worse before they get better. I'm not letting Woody off the hook. Not yet, anyway. (Also...note ratings change for swear words. Oooo!)_

XXXXXXXX

There was a whirl of activity as they counted off the first of their 24 hours in quarantine. The CDC was alerted. Men in orange biohazard suits came and took away the body of the dead missionary. They took blood samples from both Jordan and Woody and left drugs and supplies for the next 24 hours. And then they sealed off the room and left Woody and Jordan alone for the long stretch until the next morning.

Jordan watched as Woody headed into a corner for a hushed cell-phone conversation with Lu, and she felt a small ache of sadness. He flipped the phone shut, and they stood on opposite sides of the room in an awkward stand-off.

"Drop trou and bend over." She took one of the syringes from the table and held it aloft.

He arched an eyebrow but undid his belt buckle. "You look like going to enjoy this."

"Let's just say this will hurt you waaaay more than it'll hurt me." She got more than a little satisfaction from jabbing the needle into his flesh.

"Ow! _Damn_, Jordan."

She picked up another syringe and smiled as she lowered her own waistband an inch or two to give herself a quick, painless injection in her right hip.

"Here. You'll need to take these, too." She passed him a cup with a rainbow of pills that the disease control doctors had left for them.

"And these will keep me from getting sick?"

"Well, they'll keep you from _dying_. Some people can experience a bad reaction, though."

"Such as?" he asked ominously.

"Fever, chills. Think of the worst case of the flu you've ever had. Then multiply it by twenty."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"You're going to _wish_ I was kidding," she said tersely.

He shrugged and swallowed the pills. "Beats dying."

They went back to an uneasy silence, and she retreated into the corner. There was only the sound of the wall clock ticking off the minutes. It was dizzying, him being so close. Her feelings of anger clashed agonizingly with her residual romantic feelings for him.

But she could get through this. Keeping her distance. Speaking to him only when necessary. Twenty-four hours was a long time, but it was finite. She could get through this.

He tugged at his shirt collar and whipped his tie off. "Is it hot in here or is it just me?"

"It's just you," she said without looking up.

She found an old professional journal jammed into one of the cabinets and tried to lose herself in the fascinating world of forensic odontology. Woody balled up a stack of autopsy report cover sheets and played basketball with an empty biohazard bin.

Her liquid breakfast had been disposed of in the trashcan in the hallway, and it was nearing lunch. She unwrapped an energy bar that had been left for them and took a tentative bite.

"How is it?" he asked.

"Tastes like peanut butter flavored sawdust."

He crossed after a moment and got one for himself, and they both chewed in silence.

Time ticked by. She eyed him with irritation as he began to whistle and crack his knuckles.

"Look," he suddenly said clearing his throat. "As long as we're here, we might as well…clear the air."

"I don't want to talk about this, Woody. Okay? The past is done. _We're_ done. Let's just bury this whole thing." She was trying to sound casual, as if nothing he could say or do would bother her again.

He said nothing but nodded once and hoisted himself up on a countertop. No one spoke.

"Just one question." Her voice cut sharply through the silence.

He looked over at her with wary eyes. "Okay…"

"When did you start seeing her?"

He exhaled and ruffled his hair before speaking. "A few weeks ago. Just after the bombings in the subway."

So, Lu had been seeing him when they had talked at the safe house. "God, I feel like such an idiot," she said to herself and covered her face with her hands.

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

They sat in the thick, awkward stillness. "I'm sorry, Jordan," he finally said in a rough voice.

She thought for a moment. She should just shrug, give him a dismissive "whatever" and let the subject die. They would lapse into another silence and let the time drag by. That's what she _should_ do if she wanted to keep him from the knowledge of how much he had hurt her.

But she wouldn't.

"Sorry for what? Sorry you're sleeping with Lu or sorry I found out? What is it you feel guilty about?"

"I don't feel guilty exactly." He shrugged and struggled for words. "It's just…I never meant to hurt you."

She smiled a pained, rueful smile. "Ah, _poor _Jordan. Is that what you think?"

He squirmed in discomfort. "Come on, Jordan, don't do this." His voice had begun to rise to an angry peak. "We've got 20 hours to go in here. Like I said, I'm just trying to clear the air. Lu and I didn't plan this. It just…_happened_."

"_Sex_ just happens." She shook her head slowly. "Relationships don't _just happen_."

He slid off the table and took a step towards her, hands on hips. "Oh, kind of like your relationship with JD, right?

"_What_! What's that got to do with anything?"

"What's with the double standard? You're allowed to date other people, and I'm not? Seems to me you spent most of last fall shacked up with Clark Kent, Star Reporter."

Her shoulders dropped in disappointment. It was as if the Lucy Carver Inn had never happened. He didn't get it. Not at all.

"That's different, and you know it." Her voice was strained.

"How? How is that different?"

"Because there was nothing between us when I started seeing JD. No, as I remember, it was just the opposite. _You_ pushed me away after you got shot. _You_. I was there, ready to say what you wanted to hear, and you were the one who pushed, not me. What did you expect me to do after that, join a convent?"

"Well, I guess I didn't expect you to jump into bed with the first person that came down the pike."

"No, that would be _your_ job. " The tears of anger and hurt stung the back of her eyes. "After months of hostility, we finally get to a place where we can be friends. _More_ than friends. Then, out of nowhere, you're dating your shrink."

"_Ex-_shrink!"

"Like that makes a difference. There are rules against it, and there are reasons for those rules. Your _ex-shrink_ is well aware of them."

"Look who's talking. You're all about breaking the rules. Except when they apply to someone else, right?" he said with a sneer. "What's the matter? Jealous?"

She considered it. No. She was angry, hurt. But not jealous. Being jealous would imply that she envied Lu. Suddenly, seeing Woody, hearing his explanation, she knew that she did not envy Lu at all.

"No, jealous isn't the word. I just feel disappointed. Disgusted. And incredibly stupid. All this time, I thought you were one of last of the good guys. This Midwestern farmboy thing you project with the bad ties and the cornball puns? It's all just an act, isn't it? You're just another heel. Man, I can't believe you came to my place the other night and were going to cancel your plans with your new girlfriend to have dinner with me. That's low."

He looked back at her petulantly. "What do you care, anyway? Like you said. My life isn't your concern."

"Stupid me, I thought we had an understanding." Her voice had grown quiet. "We'd just shared the most intimate thing two people can share. I barely catch my breath, and when I turn around, you're with someone else. Is that how little that meant to you? You didn't think you owed me an explanation? You didn't think maybe you should tell me about it before I found out like this?"

He looked away for a moment in shame, but when he lifted his face back up to hers, his eyes were defiant. "Maybe I just wanted to be with someone who really wanted to be with _me_. Maybe I got a little tired of waiting around for you to make up your mind, Jordan."

"For your information, Woody, my mind _was_ made up. When you were being wheeled into surgery. When we slept together. When I asked you into my apartment that night and you left me there with the lameass excuse of 'I don't want to be your rebound guy.' And what the hell does that mean, anyway? What would possibly give you the idea that you're my 'rebound guy?'"

"What was I supposed to think, Jordan? I wasn't really sure where I stood with you. How long did it take you to tell Pollack about us, huh? How long? And how many times did I have to keep asking?"

"I told you I was just looking for the right time!"

He had crossed the floor to her now. He was inches from her, with hot, angry waves rising from his body.

"Bullshit, Jordan. You dragged it out for a week, all the time promising me you'd tell him, stringing me along with that twisted little re-enactment game of yours. And in the end, you didn't even tell him! He figured it out! How do you think that made me feel? If your mind was made up, you sure had a hell of way of showing it. I had no idea what you wanted when we came back to Boston. I had no way of knowing if you wanted to be with me or whether I was going to be just one of your fuck buddies."

The words cut into her. No one moved. She would wonder later why it happened, whether it was because words failed her completely, but her hand shot up as if on reflex and struck him hard on the side of the face.

His head snapped to the side momentarily, then he turned his face slowly back towards hers with one angry, red cheek. She opened her mouth immediately to apologize, it was wrong, but he had suddenly taken her wrists in his hands, and she felt herself being propelled backwards in his tight grip.

She backed into one of the autopsy tables, and she could feel the cold steel against a bare patch of skin on her back. She managed to yank her wrists from his hands, and her elbow knocked over a paper cup, sending a multi-colored cascade of little pills skittering across the floor.

She watched him for a moment, her eyes round and horrified, mouth open, as she looked for signs of remorse. He was scarlet with anger, and his chest rose and fell heavily.

She bent down with her eyes flooded with tears and tried vainly to retrieve the pills as they bounced across the tile. His feet moved unevenly towards her.

"Jordan…" The hard edge had gone from his voice. She did not answer but scooped the pills into her hand. "Jordan…" He repeated. His voice was different.

She looked up. He took another uneven step to her, and she blinked back the tears. "What's wrong?"

He reached out a blind hand and tried to steady himself against a wobbly instrument tray. One foot slipped out from under him, his legs buckled. She scrambled to her feet, but before she could reach him, he had fallen to his knees, sending the metal tray to the floor with a loud, ominous crash.


	3. Waiting it Out

He had managed to pull himself into a seated position when she reached him. Sweat beads had popped out onto his forehead, and his color was an ashen grey.

"I'm sick, aren't I?" he asked in a thin, panicky voice. "I've got it."

She shook her head as she checked the racing pulse from his wrist. "No. It's just a bad reaction to the medication. If it were Amazon River fever, you wouldn't be symptomatic yet," she said with a clinician's detachment and crossed briskly to the stack of blankets that had been left for them. She turned then, her face clouded. Of course…how could she have forgotten? "Unless…"

"Unless what? Unless _what_?" He looked up, and his anxious eyes flitted across her face.

She drew her breath in and paused a moment before speaking. "You don't have a spleen. You could be more susceptible to infection."

"So, I am sick..."

"Not necessarily. The adverse reaction to the drugs and the early symptoms of Amazon River fever can be very similar," she tried to say reassuringly. "We won't know for awhile."

"When?" he asked in a rush. "How will we know?"

She wouldn't sugarcoat it. He was a cop. He had faced death before. "If it's the medication, the symptoms will pass in a few hours. If it's the fever, you'll develop respiratory symptoms – coughing, difficulty breathing."

"Oh, God…" he whispered in fear and shut his eyes tight.

"But I'm sure it's just the medicine. You're going to be fine," she tried to say in an even, reassuring voice.

"But what if it's not the medicine? What if I'm dying?"

"You're not dying."

"But what if I am?"

"Well, you're right here in autopsy. It'll be a short trip."

One corner of his mouth turned up into a weak smile. "If you're joking about it, it must not be too serious then, right?" She smiled but said nothing. He shuddered and pulled the blanket around him. "Jesus, I'm freezing."

She crossed back to the stack of supplies and hurriedly unfolded one of the flimsy army cots – really just a metal frame with a piece of canvas strung across it. "Here. You'll need to lie down and get some rest."

He didn't resist as she took him by the shoulders and helped him to his feet and onto the cot. She covered him as he stretched out, and he let his hand rest against hers as she drew the blanket across his chest.

"Thanks, Jordan…" he muttered.

"It's okay. Just rest," she said flatly, and pulled her hand away. Then she added in softer tones, "You're going to be fine, Woody." _Probably, _it occurred to her in an awful, unspoken thought.

They had removed his spleen after the shooting the previous spring. It was as she had told him then: if you've got to lose an organ, the spleen is the way to go. Doctors were still unsure of its real purpose. It can help fight infection, but most people can live perfectly normal lives without it. Most people, however, aren't exposed to rare Amazonian diseases.

There was a chance he had contracted a potentially fatal infection, but more than likely, he was just experiencing a fairly common reaction to some very strong medication. Either way, the hours ahead would be difficult for him.

She unfolded the other cot on the oppposite side of the room and eased herself onto the edge of it to watch him there. He had begun to shake, and she could see his limbs moving violently underneath the wool blanket.

He looked over at her with red, watery eyes. "I'm sorry. For what happened before. For what I said about being your…" He let the words trail off.

She winced and held up her hand. "It's okay," she said, though it wasn't, of course. It occurred to her in a brief moment of cynicism that he was simply a man facing death who was trying to clear his conscience.

"I don't blame you for decking me, Jordan."

"We'll talk about this later."

"If there is a later. I just want to tell you now that I'm sorry. For everything."

She said nothing. She had lost the ability to read whether or not he was being sincere. "Don't talk. Just rest."

She dropped another blanket on him and watched as he rolled onto his side and shut his eyes. The edges of her handprint still burned red against his pallid, damp skin, and she felt an ache of shame and regret for it. How had she let things spiral out of control earlier? She was not supposed to let this get to her.

As the image of Lu wiping the sugar from his mouth with a girlish squeal had been burned into her brain that morning, it was as if her feelings for him had immediately evaporated. Her affection and attraction for him had given way to emotions of anger and disappointment, and they had only been exacerbated by his feeble apology, his worthless excuses, his moment of rage in the autopsy room.

Now, seeing him like this: weak, vulnerable, afraid, she knew that feelings of love and hate could compete for the same spot in her heart. No matter how badly he had hurt her, she knew getting over him completely and totally would be no easy feat. It would not have hurt so much otherwise.

But she would get over him. There was no doubt. Nothing could repair that part of her that had been broken that morning. It had been more than a disappointment to see him there with Lu, it was a betrayal: to find out the person you loved was not really that person at all.

She lost track of the hours. His condition worsened, but she expected that. He writhed feverishly on his cot, he drifted in and out of a restless sleep. But there were no respiratory symptoms. Her eyes darted up to the clock every few minutes, and she knew that as time passed, there was less likelihood that he was sick.

He continued to toss restlessly. He seemed unaware of his surroundings. She could hear him muttering, disjointed words. Once, his hand shot up from the bed. "No! Don't do it!" he said, and she wondered what demons were chasing him through his fever dreams.

She had almost drifted off to sleep herself when his voice suddenly cut into the stillness.

"Jordan?"

She blinked and sat up on the cot. "What is it?"

He was lying on one side, looking across the room at her. His eyes seemed clearer than they had a few hours before. "If you knew you were dying, who would you want to spend your last twenty-four hours with?" His voice was still weak.

"You should save your strength. Don't talk."

"Answer the question."

"You're not dying, Woody."

"Come on…humor me."

Once before, she had thought he was dying, and it had let forth a torrent of emotions. It was then that she knew she loved him, and she had told him so, with disastrous effect. This was all too familiar, wondering now in fear whether he would live or die. Some of those same emotions still roiled beneath the surface, but she would keep the floodgates forever locked against those feelings.

She pressed her lips into a thin, hard line. "My dad. Garret. My family here at the morgue."

If he was disappointed by her answer, he didn't show it. "I know who I would pick…"

He looked at her with a faint smile, and it sent a chill through her.

His eyelids fluttered shut, and he slipped back into a state of semi-consciousness.

There was nothing to do but wait.


	4. Getting Out

She finally let a fitful sleep overtake her hours later. At some point in the night, she rolled over, and Woody was sitting up on the edge of his cot with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His hair stood on end, and there was still a grey pallor to his skin, but his eyes were bright.

The fever was gone. It had simply been a bad reaction to the medication.

"Hey!" she threw her legs over the side of her cot. "You're up!" A strong flood of relief swept through her.

"Yeah." His voice was steady but weak. "How long was I out?"

"About eight hours. Looks like you're in the clear, though."

He rubbed at his eyes. "Then why do I feel like I've been hit by an eighteen-wheeler?"

She rose and quickly and crossed to the pile of food supplies. "You should eat something. You need to get your strength back."

He waved her off. "No! No more energy bars, for the love of God."

"Then at least drink some water. You're dehydrated." She passed him a bottle of spring water. He muttered a thanks and downed most of it in one gulp.

"Looks like we're almost out of here," he said, glancing up at the clock.

She only nodded, and he sipped at his water.

"I want to thank you, Jordan. Thank you for everything you did for me."

She wondered if he had any memory at all of the things he had said during the fever. "You're welcome," she said simply.

They stood in silence for a moment. The awkwardness had crept back into their conversation.

She looked for something, anything to do, and fussed with a stack of papers on one of the countertops.

"For what it is worth, Jordan, I _am_ sorry. Not just for what happened with me and Lu, but for the things I said to you. I'm sorry. I know that doesn't count for a whole lot right now."

She kept her back to him, unable to speak, but nodded her head once, as if in acceptance of his apology.

"What happened?" He finally asked after a beat, his voice soft and pleading.

"What do you mean?" she asked as she turned to face him, though she knew, of course, what he meant.

"To us? When did it all go wrong?"

_Well, when you slept with Lu_.It was the first thought that popped into her head, but she realized quickly that much of her bright anger had broken with Woody's fever. And besides, she knew it wasn't entirely true.

They had never talked about what happened at the Lucy Carver Inn. It was not something they did, rather, it was something they avoided at all costs, talking about the strange nature of a relationship that existed somewhere between platonic friendship and romance.

It was time. If they didn't do it now, forced together in this small space, they never would. As painful as it would be, they had to hash things out. Perhaps then, they could both move on.

She thought of the events of the previous year, and the past unraveled in her mind like a film running in reverse, trying to pinpoint the exact moment things had begun to hurtle toward this inevitable conclusion.

"I don't know," she said thoughtfully and crossed back to her cot. "Maybe it was the ring."

"That _ring_…" he groaned and let his head drop into his hands. "What the hell was I thinking? Not one of my better ideas."

She hesitated, but if they were going to tell the whole truth, she needed to go on. "I didn't turn down the ring because I didn't want it. I turned it down because I was afraid I _did_ want it." He looked up at her, confused and wounded, and she went on haltingly. "I couldn't think of one good reason _not_ to take that ring. And that scared the hell out of me. But even so, I was going to ask for it back. Even though I was _terrified_. Then, before I could say anything, you told me you thought we were better off as friends."

"Come on, Jordan, you had to have known I didn't mean that. Why didn't you say something?"

"Who knows?" She smiled ruefully. "Not one of _my_ better ideas." There was a beat. Her voice dropped. "And then you were shot."

He nodded sadly, and she didn't even need to ask the question. "I thought I'd never walk again. I didn't want to guilt you into staying with a cripple and then resenting me for the rest of your life."

She shook her head. "But even after you knew you'd walk again, you threw me out of your life. _Why_?_"_

"I remember the first time I saw you at that bank four years ago. I got a phone call from a buddy of mine from back home that night, and I told him I'd just met the most perfect woman in Boston. I was only half joking, but then you and I started working together more and more, and I knew I was right. I guess it started off as kind of a game, trying to get the hot M.E. to notice me. But I fell in love with you somewhere along the way, despite everything, you dragging me all the way across the country, landing me in all kinds of trouble.

"I loved you, Jordan," he continued. "I wanted to be with you. I thought if I showed you how much I loved you, you might love me, too. It took me almost four years, but I tried everything. I tried being patient, giving you space. I tried treating you the way you deserve to be treated. I tried that damn ring. Nothing worked. And then it took me getting shot to get you to figure it out. I was there lying on a gurney with a bullet in my gut, and you finally tell me what I've always wanted to hear. Afterwards, I had all the time in the world to just lie there and brood, and I kept getting angrier and angrier. It was like nothing I had done mattered. Was that what it took? Me almost dying? How could I ever do anything to top that? How could I ever be just good enough?"

She knew there was no easy answer to his questions. "You were so angry..."

"Yeah, I was pissed. But I was pissed at everyone and everything. There's a reason they take away your badge and your gun when you get shot." He smiled a humorless smile. "Then you started seeing Pollack. I had myself convinced that I was better off without you, but the truth was it killed me every time I saw you with him."

"I can't apologize for that, Woody. You said we were over, more than once, and I had no choice but to believe you and move on."

"Yeah, I think I understand that. But it didn't keep me from being jealous as hell. Then, I figured out that maybe you and Pollack weren't so happy together after all. And then we ended up at the Lucy Carver Inn."

She felt herself flush pink a little, and she looked down and fidgeted with her hands. "Yeah…" she exhaled.

"When we woke up the next morning, I thought I might feel over the moon or guilty or awkward. But I didn't," he shook his head in surprise. "I don't know, it just felt natural to me. Like we'd been waking up together every morning for years." He smiled at the memory. "But you were moody and barely talked on the drive back into Boston, and I knew you didn't feel the same way I did."

"I had just cheated on my boyfriend, Woody."

"I know, I know, and I think I understand now how badly you must have felt about it. Believe me, _I know._ But at the time, I didn't get it. All I could see was us getting back on the same treadmill."

"So, that's why the rebound guy line."

"We were standing there at your doorway, you asked me in, and I knew what would happen if I went inside. I couldn't do it. I knew how hard it was on you, telling Pollack the truth and then finding the engagement ring. Jumping into things so soon after all that was the last thing we needed. I _would_ have been your rebound guy. Maybe not in the way people usually think of the word, but I would have been. Besides, starting things right after you ended another relationship just seemed sort of, I don't know…disrespectful. Like dancing on someone's grave."

She leaned forward. "But later…what happened? I really thought we had an understanding. Was I wrong?"

He knit his brows together. "I'm not completely clueless, you know. I'd started to hear things, started thinking. I thought maybe you might have used me as an excuse to end things with Pollack."

She swallowed hard. "I didn't use you. That's not how it was. What happened at the inn was about _us_, not Pollack."

"But it was all pretty convenient, don't you think?" There was no hint of accusation in his voice, just a sad weariness.

She said nothing. There was nothing she could say to convince him. He had hit closer to the truth than he knew. They were quiet for a moment as she let his words seep in.

"Why Lu?" She finally asked, and pulled her knees to her chest. She braced herself, not sure if she was prepared to hear the answer.

A look played across his face, and Jordan wondered if it was because he didn't really know the answer, himself. He wrestled with the question for a moment and then spoke. "After the subway bombings, she was pretty shaken. We ended up talking, and...we kissed. It was just one kiss, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. She wasn't afraid to show me how she felt. She wasn't afraid to _need_ me. I felt like I could actually _matter_ to her. Do you know how long it has been since I felt that way?"

"She's your ex-shrink, Woody. There's a conflict of interests there. She cleared you for duty after the shooting, but you almost died. People don't get over it just like that." She snapped her fingers and went on carefully. "I still see that same rage in you sometimes…like when you grabbed me yesterday."

He looked up at her, and his eyes were dark. He opened his mouth, let out a strangled noise, and then nodded quickly. "I'm sorry, Jordan…"

"I know you are. And this is none of my business, but I think maybe Lu is too close to the situation to see it." She took in a deep, steadying breath. "I think you need to see someone else. Professionally. It's not a sign of weakness to ask for help, it's a sign of strength."

He only nodded, and then finally, "I know."

Jordan bit her lip. She hated sounding like a scold. "Besides, there are rules against it. She could get in trouble. Both of you, maybe."

"Screw the rules, Jordan. I've been responsible all my life. Since I was four years old and my mother asked me on her deathbed to look out for my little brother. When my dad died, my uncle was supposed to take us, but he didn't really want two teenagers, and Cal and I didn't want to change schools. So, I did everything. I cooked, cleaned, did the shopping, the laundry. _Everything_." He shook his head resolutely. "I'm sick of being responsible."

He was silent, and the revelations seemed to have worn him out. He drew the blanket closer around him. She rose and began to fold up her blanket and her cot.

"I'm happier right now than I've been in a long time. But Lu and I both know this is a just a fling." A small, sad smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "God help me, I can't get you out of my system, Jordan Cavanaugh. I don't know what the future holds for any of us, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't hope that maybe there's still a chance for us somewhere down the road."

She looked across the gap at him. She knew she had to say something, to tell him that it was wrong for him to live in that hope, but she found that she couldn't.

The silence was broken by the sound of the tape and plastic being pulled off the front of the autopsy room door. Garret stepped inside with a reassuring smile on his face. "I just got a call from the CDC. Your test results are back, and you're free to go."

"Hallelujah!" Woody whooped and stood on wobbly knees.

"Now, go home and get some real sleep, you two."

"Twist my arm, why don't you?" Jordan tossed him one of the wretched energy bars. "Here, Garret. They're all yours."

He rolled his eyes and left them to gather their things. Woody pulled on his suit jacket, and Jordan slipped on her shoes in silence.

"Well, I guess this is it then," he said as they stood at the autopsy room door.

"Yeah. This is it. I hope you'll think about what I said," she held his gaze for a moment. "About getting help."

"I will. And I hope you'll think about what _I_ said."

She took in a sharp, startled breath and found herself answering with a non-commital, "I'll think about."

"See ya 'round, Jordan," he said after a moment and moved down the hallway toward the elevator.

She watched him go before she headed back to the locker room for her street clothes. It would take her some time to make sense of everything that had happened in that room. If she believed in such a thing, she would say that some force had dropped them there together. As painful as it had been, she had her answers, and much of the anger and hurt she had felt had given way to a sense of peace.

Woody was damaged, not just by the shooting, but by a lifetime of tragedy and the burden he had been forced to carry on young shoulders. He was as imperfectly, fallibly, complexly human as the rest of them, after all.

And as she thought of the tether she had kept Woody on for years and her own doomed relationship with JD, she knew that she was not without blame for the tangled state of her life.

_Maybe there's still a chance for us somewhere down the road…_

She smiled in spite of herself as she shed the set of scrubs she had been wearing for the past twenty-four hours, and his words replayed again in her head even as she left the locker room and let the elevator swallow her back up.

THE END


End file.
